


This Bodes Ill

by anticyclone



Series: Three's A Crowd [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale/Pre-Fall Satan | Lucifer (mentioned), M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Post-Canon, Russian Translation Available, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unwilling Arousal, mild psychic control, vaguely menacing flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-19 23:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: "Then… uh…" Crowley tried, failed. "You're here because… uh…""To what do we owe the pleasure?" Aziraphale finished on his behalf, immediately cringing at the wild look Crowley shot him.In the days following the Apocalypse that hadn't and the trials that certainly had, Lucifer informs Crowley and Aziraphale that he'd noticed their little trick. And he is… amused.





	This Bodes Ill

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Дурные знамения](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408618) by [bangbangbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangbangbaby/pseuds/bangbangbaby), [WTF_Good_Omens_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Good_Omens_2020/pseuds/WTF_Good_Omens_2020)



A sign in the bookshop window said CLOSED (NO, REALLY), but the door swung open for him before Crowley had even raised his hand to snap. He flung himself inside without stopping to think about that. The door slammed shut behind him, locking audibly, and he didn't hear that, either.

The last time he'd run to the shop like this he'd started screaming Aziraphale's name as soon as he was inside. This time he didn't. This time Crowley ran straight to the back, to the sitting area no customer had ever managed to stumble on, with the armchair Aziraphale loved to sit in and the couch he indulgently allowed Crowley to doze on when they were both extremely drunk.

Crowley really, really wished that he was extremely drunk.

For the past six minutes he had been chasing an earthquake through London. It hit him square in the chest when he crossed the last threshold. He reeled back, both hands reaching out to latch onto the doorframe. It was a struggle to remain standing. He wanted to collapse from fear, relief, and awe all at the same time.

Aziraphale raised his head. "Crowley," he said, a mixture of abject hope and terror. There was almost no color in his face and his hands were clasped together, white-knuckled, in his lap.

Next to Aziraphale, one arm along the back of the couch to frame the angel's shoulders, sat Lucifer.

 **Hello, Crowley,** he said. **Glad you could join us.**

"Lord," he croaked. He had the distinct thought that he should've brought the tire iron in with him before leaving the Bentley to roll to a stop in the middle of the street. (It was fine. It'd found a parking spot. The other cars in London knew what was good for them.) He swallowed, pried one hand loose from the doorframe, and let his arm hang at his side. He pressed two fingers together in the beginning of a snap.

The Morningstar smiled. **Crowley, darling. Sit.**

Immediately, his other hand dropped from the doorframe, and Crowley staggered forward. He fell heavily into the armchair across from the couch. Under his shirt, his chain necklace shifted.

**We were just talking about you. Speak of the devil, I suppose.**

"Aziraphale," Crowley said, desperately.

Lucifer's eyes half-closed. **The way you say each other's names is quite nice.**

If he'd been a hair less panicked, Crowley might have had time to think, _What the fuck?_

Instead Aziraphale said, "Crowley," which nearly made Crowley flinch. Had he been going to say it anyway? He took several shallow breaths before continuing, haltingly, "I'm - I'm afraid I wasn't prepared for company. I don't have anything ready."

Lucifer folded the arm on the back of the couch so he could rest his head on his fist, which meant his face was very near to Aziraphale's indeed. Crowley hadn't realized, at first, because there had been so much to realize, but they were sitting so closely that their legs would've been touching, except Lucifer had his crossed. Crowley wanted to leap up, tear Aziraphale off the couch, and fly out the front window, but he couldn't move.

**I told you, I don't need anything, Aziraphale.**

Crowley wanted to rip his tongue out of his mouth. Except he couldn't move, and it wouldn't matter, and Lucifer would never let him that close in the first place. Not for that. He had slid completely into Morningstar mode. It never seemed to be a strain for him. Black suit, black silk shirt, stark white tie, black dress shoes that shone in the bookshop's soft light. Blond hair fell carelessly across his forehead in a way that some people paid thousands to achieve. His eyes, still half-closed, shone bright blue. (Gabriel could never.)

Aziraphale looked down and then back up again, straight at Crowley. His eyes were huge and pale and pleading.

"What'd I miss?" Crowley made himself say.

 **We've just been catching up. Reminiscing. You arrived quite quickly,** Lucifer said. His attention was trailing over Crowley now, cataloging in a familiar way. 

"I was in the neighborhood," Crowley said, by which he meant all the way across the damned river. Then Lucifer's words ran through his head again. "Uh. What?"

Aziraphale swallowed.

 **Did you think _I_ wouldn't notice your clever little trick?** Lucifer asked, blandly. He watched Crowley suck in a sharp breath and waited until Crowley had opened his mouth to continue speaking as if he'd never meant to pause. **You always have been clever, Crowley, darling.**

They were fucked. They were _fucked,_ and the Antichrist wasn't here to save them this time. Aziraphale had no sword. Crowley didn't even have a tire iron.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispered.

"Angel?"

"It's my fault," Aziraphale said. He was staring so intently at Crowley he didn't seem to notice that Lucifer had turned to look at him, blue eyes drifting down to watch Aziraphale's mouth as he spoke. "We didn't think that - um - that his, ah…"

**You can just call me Lucifer, Aziraphale. I don't mind. Think of it like old times.**

Again: Too much panic. Not a spare second to think, _What the actual godforsaken fuck?_

"...We didn't think that Lucifer would attend the trial." Aziraphale swallowed. His voice was beginning to sound dry. His hands, still clasped together in his lap, were trembling. "But he watched. And he recognized me, despite all my efforts, I… I'm sorry, dear."

"Angel?" Crowley asked, again.

**The pet names are charming.**

Crowley looked back and forth between them. Lucifer smirked and Aziraphale's cheeks flushed pink.

"Don't take him," Crowley said. Asked. He gripped the arms of the chair and edged himself forward. Lucifer looked at him curiously. Aziraphale's lips parted like he wanted to scream and couldn't find the sound for it. "Don't take him, Lord. It was my idea, my fault."

 **Don't look so frightened. I'm not here to take either of you. Well.** Lucifer looked down at the hand balanced on his knee and flexed his fingers, studying his perfectly shaped nails. His voice rumbled, amused, as he added: **Not like that.**

They both stared at him. Aziraphale jumped slightly when he turned - he hadn't noticed how close Lucifer was leaning to him.

 **You outsmarted the rest of them fair and square. If they're all willing to be fooled, far be it from me to correct them.** Lucifer smiled with teeth, and Crowley shivered. Aziraphale briefly drew his bottom lip in, worrying at it. **You disobeyed me, Crowley, but it seems that I put too much of myself into that boy. That's not why I'm here. Neither of you is going to be immolated.**

The air in the bookshop wavered. The earthquake feeling slackened, just slightly.

"Then… uh…" Crowley tried, failed. "You're here because… uh…"

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Aziraphale finished on his behalf, immediately cringing at the wild look Crowley shot him.

**I thought it would be pleasant to see you both in the same place. Also, I was curious about this shop. It's quaint. I like it. A nice collection you have, Aziraphale.**

A visible struggle was taking place on Aziraphale's face over the word quaint and also over Satan himself praising his books. Crowley recognized the fevered glint that betrayed Aziraphale's instinctual, visceral reaction to any suggestion that someone might want to leave the shop with a piece of that collection. Which they absolutely could not use right now. He realized he needed to think of something to say before Aziraphale discorporated from the stress of it all.

"Does Heaven know about the switch, too?" he asked before he could think better of it.

Lucifer raised one golden eyebrow. **I'm certainly not about to tell them.** He paused and angled his head, keen interest surging in his eyes. **Come sit with us, Crowley.**

Crowley's hips picked him up from the chair, his fingers clutching at the arms until the last possible second. His feet heaved him across the small space and spun him on one heel, so that when he fell to the couch he was tucked neatly up against Lucifer's side. Blazing heat immediately flared through him, and his leg twitched. He grabbed his own knee in an effort to hold himself still.

The Morningstar lifted his arm and draped it across Crowley's shoulders, his thumb making absent circles on the fabric of Crowley's jacket. Aziraphale's teeth dug into his bottom lip. His face got pink again.

 **Better. Tell me,** Lucifer ordered, **I interrogated Legion's aspect when they arrived back to ours with the Hellfire, but of course they hadn't stayed to watch. How did the Archangels react to your sleight of hand? How was your trial?**

"Uh." It was difficult not to move with each gentle stroke Lucifer's thumb drew on his arm. "No trial. Just tied me - Aziraphale me - to a chair. Kept me waiting until they thought I would be squirming enough, I guess."

Lucifer's eyes flicked back to Aziraphale, to his wrists. **Mmm.**

Talk. Talk. As soon as he spoke, Lucifer's attention moved back to him, instead of the angel's wrists. "It was, uh. Gabriel, Uriel. Sandalphon. Guess Michael was busy with actual Aziraphale. Me."

Lucifer's eyes rolled, the revolution of stars. **Sandalphon. In my time, he never would've ranked Archangel.**

"And then, you know, Legion shows up," Crowley babbled on. "Very businesslike, Legion, a real credit to their myriad. Poured out a swirling tornado of Hellfire."

"Fire whirl," Aziraphale corrected, as if compelled by hundreds of years of study and a dozen unabridged dictionaries on one of the shelves above them. (Bolted to the wall, to keep from tipping over.)

 **Fire devil,** Lucifer said, aiming a grin at Aziraphale.

"Scared the lights out of the Archangels. Gabriel called me Sunshine and himself the Archangel fucking Gabriel," Crowley threw out, frenzied. He ignored Lucifer's laugh as best he could, which meant that he chose not to acknowledge it when he and Aziraphale both shuddered. "They're all pissed they didn't get their war. Went on about making examples out of traitors."

**Naturally.**

Folded like he was up against Lucifer's side, Crowley could see Lucifer lift his head from his fist. He stretched his other arm back out, along the couch, only to move his hand and brush his fingertips against Aziraphale's hair. Crowley's fingers dug into his palms. Aziraphale's eyes got impossibly wide.

"Right. Then. Uh. Just walked into the flames. Nice and easy. Blew a bit out at them, all jumped back like - like great big jumping things."

Lucifer's hand drifted to cup the back of Aziraphale's head. One of his fingers absently trailed over the shell of Aziraphale's ear, and the angel drew in a sudden damp breath, his pupils widening.

"Pushed all the elevator buttons on my way out so it'd take forever to get back to the top," Crowley mumbled. 

He knew that look like he knew his own face in the mirror. Oh. Oh, they were _fucked._

**Seems to me Heaven treated you poorly, Aziraphale. Not even a trial. And you did have such fun at Crowley's.**

Aziraphale's hands twisted together in his lap and nervous laughter bubble up out of him. He looked away from Lucifer - Crowley couldn't imagine how he managed it - out at the rest of the shop, back at the both of them, laughed one time and then swallowed it all down. "Oh. Well. You - You both know this story already. I was imitating Crowley, that's all."

Lucifer glanced sidelong at Crowley and murmured, confidingly, **Took his sweet time peeling you out of your clothes, you know. _I've_ never seen you do that.**

"P-Perhaps I should try to dig up some refreshments after all," Aziraphale stammered. He started to rise to his feet.

 **Stay,** Lucifer said, and Aziraphale fell the inch back to the couch. His hand fell to curl over the back of Aziraphale's neck.

"Just doing my best," Aziraphale gasped. "It's easy when you've known someone for six thousand years."

**And to think, I've known you both longer.**

Aziraphale's eyes fell shut and his shoulders hunched. Crowley blinked. It felt like he was swaying. He must have been, because he froze when Lucifer reached up and gently pulled his glasses off his face. He folded them up with one hand and tossed them onto the coffee table, where they somehow landed as if set down with extraordinary care. Crowley blinked again.

 **Come now,** Lucifer said at the look on his face. Crowley twitched reflexively. **You know I was acquainted with the full Heavenly host, Before.**

"Uh. Yes?" That had been the point. No one hadn't known the Morningstar.

 **Your angel loves you very much, Crowley,** Lucifer said. There was laughter underneath his words. It made them both shudder again. **And I suppose it goes both ways, if you were willing to take his place upstairs. Has he offered to groom your wings yet?**

Crowley gaped, but Aziraphale still had his eyes screwed shut.

**He's quite attentive.**

Crowley grasped desperately for some reply. Without his glasses to hide behind he was hideously aware of what his face must look like. It felt like every single molecule in his body was straining, and some on a dimensional plane slightly behind him, where his wings would be. "Is he?"

 **From what I recall.** Another smirk curled over Lucifer's face. **I think it would be very pretty, darling. His fingers on your black feathers.**

"Hgnk." The panic had slacked off just enough for a tiny sliver of his brain to hiss in agreement, which he really didn't have time to dwell on. His wings were threatening to make an appearance and he knew if he didn't concentrate he wouldn't be able to stop them. Toppling all three of them off the couch because he couldn't control their manifestation would be humiliating.

Aziraphale finally opened his eyes. There were galaxies worth of emotion in his face, but damned if Crowley had any idea what to make of even a slice of it. Except that for a second Crowley's attention drifted down to his fingers, and when Aziraphale realized, he flexed his hands against each other and glanced away.

Unfortunately for him, he glanced right back into Lucifer's face. It was hard to avoid. **I always think it's amusing when Crowley loses his tongue, don't you?**

"Ah," Aziraphale said.

 **He's so talented with it, otherwise.** Crowley would have sworn to anybody who'd listen that he godda - that he _winked._ **I don't know if you've had time to discover that yet, Aziraphale.**

"Not… exactly."

**Pity. Or not. Something to look forward to.**

Aziraphale was staring at Crowley's mouth. Crowley’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the angel whimpered. Out loud. All of the impossible heat Lucifer gave off churned just underneath Crowley's skin, pleading to be let out. If Lucifer's hand hadn't been grasping Crowley's shoulder he might have darted across the Morningstar's lap to kiss Aziraphale right then and there.

Somewhere else in London a clock tolled the hour.

 **Regrettably, I find myself out of time.** Lucifer lifted both his arms, stretching them out before himself before gracefully rising to his feet.

They were left alone on the couch staring at each other. Crowley started to tip forward, but then Lucifer bent down and called Aziraphale's attention all to himself. Crowley yanked back. The shop suddenly felt cold. He felt cold.

 **It was good to see you again, sweet Principality,** Lucifer said, his hand trailing along the side of Aziraphale's face. Aziraphale's lips parted in a way that Crowley was too familiar with, and he was horrified to find his chest lurch at the sight, Aziraphale gazing up like that and Lucifer's fingers resting gently under his chin, tilting his face up.

Then Lucifer turned and settled a hand on Crowley's shoulder. His touch was heavy enough to pin him to the couch and light enough not to crease his jacket. He gave Crowley a squeeze and then brushed his hair back from his forehead. Smiling, he said, **We'll have to plan ahead next time, darling. Must be off.**

Neither the demon nor the angel moved as the Morningstar showed himself out of the bookshop.

Several minutes passed, or something like them. The angle of sunlight streaming in through the window shifted.

At long last the earthquake feeling vanished.

There was no shaking underfoot. Nothing like heat or searing black spots of light suggested at the corners of Crowley's vision. The air was clear and relaxed and when Crowley tried to sag against the couch, his body complied.

Aziraphale looked at him and whispered, "I think he was propositioning us."

Crowley opened and shut his mouth several times. He slid down some more. His knee bumped Aziraphale's. When Aziraphale unlaced his fingers, nervous tension bleeding off him, Crowley snatched one of his hands up. He brought Aziraphale's knuckles to his mouth and pressed a trembling kiss to them. Aziraphale whimpered, again, and it was everything Crowley could do not to suck one of the angel's fingers into his mouth.

Being around Lucifer took a while to … come down from.

"I mean, I don't have, um. Much experience. Personally. But at my old club, I saw… I mean, some men - some people - like to approach couples, and, um, not to say that…" Aziraphale gestured helplessly with his free hand. Crowley wasn't sure if he was flailing about not being sure how to refer to the being that was the Morningstar, Angel of Light, Angel of the Abyss, The Evil One, or over the idea that said being might have been revving them both up on purpose.

The situation called for reassurance. His angel needed it. Crowley wanted to give it. He wanted to say something that did not involve Lucifer, Aziraphale's nimble fingers, or Crowley's tongue, talented enough only to get him into trouble.

Instead he asked, interminably curious: _"Much_ experience?" And also: "Wing grooming?"

Aziraphale flushed a dark pink. "You know what he was like, Before," he said, his voice hushed like he was worried Lucifer would overhear. Oh G- Oh S- Oh fuck, could he overhear? "This afternoon he was contained in corporeal form but in Heaven he - he was overwhelming."

"Ngh." Crowley slouched some more. "Hell, too."

Aziraphale tugged at him and Crowley allowed himself to be folded up against his side. Aziraphale was warm, too, but nothing like the near-scalding heat Lucifer put out. And Lucifer had never fussed with his hair to push it back into place, or locked an arm around him in a way that suggested the curve of a wing. Crowley kissed Aziraphale's knuckles again.

They rested in contemplative silence for a minute.

"Crowley, what do we say to him when he comes back?" Aziraphale asked. "Only I tried showing him the books, when he first got here, and he really isn't a distractable kind of - kind of being. He wasn't even interested in the Buggre Alle This Bible, and I really thought he'd find it funny."

Something bad might happen to his body if Crowley forcibly shut his brain down. He made a choking sound and jerked himself upright. "Angel. Are you sure Alpha Centauri is out?"


End file.
